By this time the Yarn Baby looked like a porcupine. Her hair stood out so straight and stiff that Mary Frances was almost afraid to speak.
“He will keep on until he will have to be punished,” whispered Wooley Ball.
“Yes,” said the Yarn Baby, “if he doesn’t stop crowing so much I will not let him crochet.”
That seemed to scare Crow Shay terribly, and he did not utter another sound, but listened with all his ears.
“You were speaking of moths,” Wooley Ball reminded Mary Frances.
“Oh, yes—about the little coat which my aunt made for Angie, my doll. I used it all winter and in the summer I folded it and put it away in a little box. When the weather was cold again, and Angie needed it, I took it out of the box and what do you think happened?”
“I know!” declared Wooley Ball. “I know what happened. The little coat fell to pieces when you picked it up. The moths had bitten it all over.”
